I have seen a face today,
from a distance that eagles see their prey.
It was a face submerged in deepest dungeons…
The familiar face…the glass face…the face we all have kissed once in our time.
Everyone has intimate affairs with the things that have the potential to kill them…
Dreamers with alcohols, painters with unattainable insanity,
Crowds with their survivalist approach.
For me it has always been eyes of miserable women and faces of their most brutal self,
yes, that was the face I am talking about.
The distance got covered in slouching motion…now we were in presence of each other’s putrescent lights…
Those highlighted lips, hungry breasts and burning thighs
I wanted all, I wanted everything without saying once that I am into her.
She has gone to her participations of human parades now…we are done having flapping transactions a couple of times,
and the worst part is; she has said to keep my doors open.
What if everything I have written so far is the eulogies of momentary affairs…and I have grown an interest in that.
I don’t want her to come again…
I don’t like this poem to be a dishonest one.

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Photograph: Petra McKenzie.